


In Serial

by doghairsweaters



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, M/M, Reincarnation, Soulmates, crowley is a historian and aziraphale is the new librarian, for good omens fic week
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-01
Updated: 2019-09-01
Packaged: 2020-10-05 00:56:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20480321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doghairsweaters/pseuds/doghairsweaters
Summary: Anthony J. Crowley was not fond of libraries. It just wasn’t his scene. Unfortunately, in his line of work as a historian and adjunct professor, it was a necessary evil.





	In Serial

**Author's Note:**

> written for the good omens fic week 2019! today's prompt is soulmates au. so i wanted to try something with the soulmates throughout their past lives thing!! it's not very explicit about it in the fic itself because it's just a drabble but i'm hoping this can lay the groundwork for a full length one some day. we'll see.
> 
> anyway, thanks! had a ton of fun writing this one! can't wait to read everyone else's and see what tomorrow brings.

**i.** Anthony J. Crowley was not fond of libraries. They were stuffy and boxed him in, and oh, god, if he didn’t get lost in the labyrinth of shelves every single time he walked into one. Not to mention, he’d never quite figured out the Dewey Decimal System, no matter how many kind old ladies tried to explain it to him nor however many helpful graphics hung on the institution’s walls. It just wasn’t his scene.

Unfortunately, in his line of work as a historian and adjunct professor, it was a necessary evil.

So necessary, in fact, that the kind old ladies mentioned earlier knew him by name, knew where he’d sit, and even what kind of coffee was in his mug (he wasn’t supposed to have it, but his continued patronage granted him an exception). They also knew him well enough that they knew to leave him alone unless he approached them first with a question. No matter how hard he struggled. Some men would sooner choke on a sword than swallow their own pride, and they filed him away into that category.

But evidently they hadn’t thought to extend a warning to the newest member of their team, and instead left him to blunder along after Mr. Crowley dropped the impressive stack of books cradled in his arms.

“New” in this scenario did not mean “young,” for he was about the same age as Crowley himself. But that didn’t make him any less charming. On the contrary, his round cheeks and accompanying scruffy beard gave him the appearance that Crowley could trust him in confidence. That could have also been wishful thinking because it wasn’t until the new librarian cleared his throat that Crowley snapped out of it. The man held out a book to him with two hands - one of the ones that fell on the floor - and even his eyes smiled.

Naturally, Crowley snatched the volume (as roughly as one could snatch a five pound encyclopedia), and huffily stuffed it under his arm. “Thank you, mister…” he squinted at the new man’s name tag. “A.Z. Fell,” it said. Interesting. The other ladies’ just said “Charlotte” or “Cheryl.” But he wasn’t about to judge. “Mr. Fell. But I’m quite all right.” Then he bent down in an effort to scoop up the rest, as if he were a dragon and his gold was anything ever written about the trenches in World War I. The newbie crouched down beside him and began to help, and as Crowley tried to grab another book from him their arms brushed. Real skin-to-skin contact. But instead of the usual embarrassment and awkward apologies, the strangest thing happened:

Crowley suddenly found himself transported to the very pages of the books in his arms. He was covered in dirt and grime, grenades exploded in his ears and his eyes burnt. He saw people shouting and their mouths moving but couldn’t hear a damn word. Everyone scrambled to get out of the trench, and he tried to follow but couldn’t get a foothold. He slipped and the ground around him caved. He didn’t know how long he was there. He just silently prayed that somebody would find him before the rats. Maybe he would suffocate first. Hopefully.

Just as he was going to give up, a hand reached in and pulled him out. When the dirt was finally out of his eyes, he saw nobody other than Mr. Fell.

The same Mr. Fell who sat in front of him when he found himself back in the library. His eyes were wide and his face white as a sheet, and Crowley was sure his own face held the same expression. Did he see the same thing? He didn’t stay to find out.

“I-I’m sorry,” he stammered, before he dropped everything and ran, leaving the poor librarian to clean up his mess.

That night, while he laid in bed and stared up at the ceiling, he vowed never to step foot in the library ever again. He’d have to move towns most likely, or his transportation fares would go up, since this was the only one around, but that could be fine! He could finally move closer to the university, like he said he would every year.

But when he fell asleep, the visions continued. This time, they were in a medical tent. Mr. Fell was treating him for chemical burns, and he reached out to hold his hand. He was scared, but Mr. Fell’s presence soothed him. Nothing could go wrong if he was at Crowley’s side. Mr. Fell quickly glanced around the room as if looking for any prying eyes, and leaned down to kiss Crowley on the forehead. Crowley relaxed and let himself doze off.

In the next scene, he and Mr. Fell finally returned home, home in this reality apparently being London. They were hidden safely in Mr. Fell’s flat as he cleaned Crowley’s bloody nose. “You really need to stop picking fights,” he chided him. “He wasn’t even going to do anything until you punched him yourself!”

Crowley grumbled, “Well, he shouldn’t have opened his mouth then.”

Mr. Fell rolled his eyes. “You need to at least learn to dodge a punch before next time. At least you were unconscious while I peeled you off the pavement, so I hope your ego is intact. Even if you cracked your fist on his face.”

“Shut up,” said Crowley. “You love me.”

“Yes I do,” agreed Mr. Fell with a sigh, “and that’s the only thing getting you out of this mess.”

**ii.** Crowley never did keep his promise to himself about staying out of the library. He didn’t even last a day. Instead, he did the next best thing: avoided Mr. Fell at every opportunity. It didn’t matter what he was doing. Any time he saw the scruffy librarian even think about approaching him, he acted as if he just had a massive research epiphany and scurried away to hide amongst the shelves. 

Mathematically speaking, he had about fifteen epiphanies per day.

Two weeks into this endeavor, when Mr. Crowley believed he was about to have a psychotic breakdown do to the self-imposed mental stress, he was ambushed. Right as he ducked into his favorite autobiography section, he was met with Mr. Fell’s disapproving stare - a look he had never seen before and one he didn’t want to see again.

“So, Mr. Crowley,” he began, “when are you going to stop avoiding me and ask me out to dinner?”

Crowley sputtered, and he tried to look for an escape but the only way out was the way he came and he certainly wasn’t ready to face the other little librarians. “I’m sorry?”

Mr. Fell crossed his arms. “We’ve had one interaction in which I barely even had a chance to say ‘hello’ and you’ve been avoiding me ever since. Even a grade school boy could see that as a tell of infatuation! And also, ever since I met you I have been having visions, and I want answers.”

‘A tell of infatuation?’ Who even spoke like that?

“First of all,” Crowley began, “don’t call me ‘mister.’ It’s just Crowley. Second, you’ve been seeing them, too?” Mr. Fell nodded. “What have you been seeing?”

Mr. Fell tutted at him. “No, doesn’t work like that! You made me wait two weeks for this conversation, you meet me for dinner first, Just Crowley.” Crowley narrowed his eyes at him for the terrible joke. Then he watched as Mr. Fell pulled out a pad of paper and a pen from his pocket, and scribbled down an address. “Meet me here at six tonight. And then maybe we can each get our answers. What you’re wearing now is fine.”

He left Crowley standing there among the generals and other assorted war heroes. He folded up the piece of paper and put it in his shirt pocket next to his heart. Whatever this was, he new it was only the beginning.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading!! 
> 
> (and i promise i will have the 2nd chapter of won't let you go like this up soon! it's almost done! but school just started last week and i have some commissions to complete first! i haven't forgotten!)
> 
> comments & kudos are appreciated! ♡
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/doghairsweaters)


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